


Closing All the Doors

by angstytimelord



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Gen, Soul-Searching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-19
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-04-15 14:45:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4610700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angstytimelord/pseuds/angstytimelord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will realizes that he has to close every door to his former relationship with Hannibal if he's ever going to have any peace of mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Waking From A Nightmare

He felt as though he was just waking up.

Will sat in his car, unable to turn the key and start the engine. He knew what he needed to do, but something was holding back from doing it.

He needed to drive to Baltimore, to Hannibal's house. He needed to go inside that house, to look around, to put the memories that the place held behind him.

Hannibal wouldn't be there. No one would. There would be nothing to greet him but furniture covered with plastic dust sheets; there was no life in that house now. The grisly remains of Hannibal's crimes had been cleared from the basement by the FBI; nothing remained but memories.

Of course, Hannibal's belongings were still there; they hadn't been disposed of yet, even though he would never get them back. They would simply stay there.

Well, until someone else bought the house, anyway, Will told himself. Whoever took over the place could decide what they wanted to do with those remnants.

He didn't want anything from the place for himself.

There was nothing for him there; he knew that. But he needed to walk through the house once more, to exorcise all of the memories from his mind.

He felt as though he was waking from a nightmare that he'd been stuck in for far too long -- a nightmare that had finally come to an abrupt -- and welcome -- end.

Hannibal had been at the center of that nightmare, directing all of the movements of the intricate dance that went on inside of it. He should have realized long before he did that Hannibal had never been anything more than an instigator, the director of a play that might have never ended.

If Hannibal had his way, it would have simply gone on and on.

Or would it? Will asked himself, shuddering inwardly. Would it have kept going indefinitely, or would Hannibal have gotten tired of it and written him out of the action?

A part of him wanted to believe that there had been some kind of friendship between the two of them, albeit a sick and twisted one. He didn't want to think that he'd been no more than a pawn.

But he might as well accept it. That was exactly what he _had_ been.

Hannibal was a serial killer, a remorseless murderer. He considered everyone in the world beneath him; he killed with impunity, and he was more than capable of killing anyone, even those he thought of as friends. Even those that he claimed to care for, Will thought with a stab or pain.

Look at what he'd done to Abigail. And had tried to do to Will himself, more than once. Hannibal wasn't capable of truly caring about anyone but himself.

That had been part of the nightmare, Will told himself. Realizing that where he'd thought he had a friend, in truth, he had the worst enemy he'd ever been pitted against.

But in the end, he'd been the one to win at their final confrontation.

Or had he? He sighed softly, rubbing a hand over his face. Hannibal had turned himself in. Hannibal had seemingly wanted him to feel that _he_ was the bad guy in all of this.

He wasn't the one who had killed hundreds, possibly even thousands, of people, Will thought fiercely. He wasn't the evil one here. Hannibal was.

That was Hannibal's way of making the nightmare even worse -- to make him feel as though _he_ had somehow been the one to do something wrong, when he hadn't. He had done the right thing, and if he could change the outcome of his actions, he wouldn't. Not for one moment.

He'd done what he had to do to keep a killer behind bars and out of society. The only reason he felt residual guilt was because of the mind games that Hannibal had played with him.

He had done what he'd had to do. He had done his job, and the friendship that he'd somehow felt was lost had never been a _real_ friendship at all.

That was something he'd never had from anyone, and never would.

Sighing softly, Will placed both hands on the steering wheel, staring out of the windshield. He had to make himself drive to Baltimore and go into that house.

If he wanted the nightmare to end, he had to do it himself. No one else was going to it for him; he knew that. He had to be the one to take the initiative, to face his memories and bury them, to close the door on the past. And if he didn't take this first step, then he'd never be able to do that.

Taking this first step was going to be the hardest part, the most difficult thing that he'd done since waking from this nightmare. But he _could_ do it.

The steps after this would come more easily. They had to.

Will took a deep breath as he reached for his car keys, putting them into the ignition and turning them. The engine sprang to life, and he put the car in gear.

He didn't look back at his house as he drove down the winding road that led to the highway. He was going to do this, and then he would be well on his way closing all of the doors to the past.

At least, he hoped that he would. But he wondered about that.

Something told him that those memories would be very hard to lock away.


	2. Standing in the Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will has difficulty making himself step into Hannibal's house for what he hopes will be the final time.

How long had he been standing here in the pouring rain?

Will looked up at the front of Hannibal's house, clutching the key to the front door in his hand. He blinked back the rain from his lashes, simply standing there and staring.

For some reason, his body didn't want to move. It was as though he was rooted to the spot; he couldn't put one foot in front of the other and move forward.

He wanted to. But he was stuck fast, unable to either turn around, go back to his car, and drive away, or go up those steps and put the key into the lock and open that front door. He was rooted in one place, unable to do anything to resolve the dilemma that he was in.

It had begun raining as he'd driven from Wolf Trap to Baltimore, and he'd thought that the grey, overcast day suited his mood. It would also make Hannibal's house look appropriately frightening.

That house had once seemed like a refuge to him, a place where he could talk about his problems, his feelings. He hadn't known then that it would become a house of horrors.

No one had known. They'd all been so foolish.

But they had learned, hadn't they? After so many people had been killed, and it had been far too late. The truth had only come to light after far too many innocents had died.

And now here he was, standing in the rain, unable to go into the house where the man who had killed all those people had lived, worked, and kept his gruesome secrets.

Will took one deep breath, then another. He had to force himself to walk into that house. Jack had given him a key; there was nothing keeping him out other than his own hesitation, his own unwillingness to face his own fears. Though why he should still have any fears about this place, he didn't know.

After all, it was only a house. Hannibal wasn't here any longer.

Nothing would jump out at him from dark corners. He wouldn't be attacked by an angry cannibal who wanted to kill him; that monster was safely behind bars.

But there were still ghosts in that house, Will told himself with an inward sigh. There were innumerable ghosts that he had never managed to put fully to rest.

Ghosts that he might never be able to make his peace with.

Will swallowed hard, closing his eyes. He was sure that he would see Abigail everywhere in that house. And if he entered the room where Hannibal had murdered her, and tried to kill him, then he would never be able to exorcise the ghost that would always be there for him.

Yet, he had to force himself to do this. If he didn't, then it wouldn't only be Abigail's ghost that haunted him for the rest of his days. It would be all of the others that he hadn't been able to save.

He couldn't save everyone. He knew that. He'd known it for a long time. But this wasn't a matter of saving Hannibal's victims. It was much, much more than that.

This was a matter of saving _himself_.

Will squared his shoulders, taking one deep breath, then another. He couldn't stand out here all night. He _had_ to go into that house and confront his fears.

Once he had walked through the place, then he would no longer feel that it somehow drew him. He would be able to put aside the past, and make peace with all that had happened.

At least, that was what he hoped he could do. He didn't want to leave the ghosts wandering in his mind. He wanted to see this house as it was now, devoid of its owner, stripped of his spirit. He wanted to see all the things that had taken place here in a dispassionate, objective light.

He had to look at the past, and put it behind him. If he didn't force himself to go into this house, if he turned away and left now, he might never be able to come back.

He couldn't let himself do that. He couldn't run from the past; he had to face up to it, and to put it into its proper place, if he ever wanted to have any peace of mind in the future.

It was time to stop running. It was time for confrontation.

Well, not the final confrontation, he thought, heaving a sigh. That would be when he and Hannibal finally met again, face-to-face, for the last time.

That would have to happen in the future. There was no way around that. If he wanted to let the past rest, then he had to confront the author of all of his nightmares.

But that was for the future, Will reminded himself, looking up at the house again. First, he had to get through this; he had to make himself walk through the rooms where he had once felt so safe and secure, the rooms that now held nothing but bad memories and nightmares for him.

He could do this. He had the strength. He might have doubted himself for a few moments, but he had to put those doubts behind him and do what he had to do.

Will took one step forward, then another. He counted each step as he went up them, finally stopping after what seemed to him like a very long climb.

He was here. He just had to reach out and put the key into the lock.

Will fit the key into the lock with a shaking hand, glancing behind him. The rain was coming down harder now; he had to go in. He couldn't spend the day just standing in the rain.

Taking a deep breath, he pushed the door open and took a step inside the darkened house, almost holding his breath, wondering just what he might find.


	3. Too Late For Regrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will begins his walk through Hannibal's house, hoping that he can set all of the ghosts in this place to rest once and for all.

He wished that he'd never entered this house.

But it was far too late for regrets, Will told himself, sighing as he looked around the darkened foyer. He had come into this house willingly, at least the first time.

He wished that he wasn't here now. He didn't want to be here. But he knew that he had to do this; if he didn't, then he would never make peace with his own past.

How many times had he stood in this foyer, with Hannibal reaching for his coat? How many sessions had he come here for, until he'd realized that those "therapy" sessions were no therapy at all, but just a way for Hannibal to reach into his mind and try to twist him into something that he wasn't?

The memory of those sessions made him shudder. Hannibal had done things to him then; things that he only vaguely remembered, things that he didn't want to come to the surface.

He had been foolish enough to think that his nemesis understood him, when all the while, Hannibal had only been toying with him, trying to find out what made him tick.

Hannibal had never been his friend. He wasn't capable of friendship in any way.

Hannibal had only wanted Will to become a carbon copy of himself. He had needed someone to take the fall for his crimes, and Will had been the perfect patsy.

The perfect prey, he thought, wincing as he moved deeper into the house. Yes, that was all he'd ever been. Prey. But now his eyes were opened, and he would never be so helpless again.

The furniture was covered with dust sheets; he'd expected that, but he hadn't expected the place to look and feel so .... uninhabited. He had been sure that the house would still retain some of Hannibal's malevolent spirit, that it would still hold some of the evil of its owner.

But the place felt strangely deserted, void of any character.

That thought made Will's spirits lift a bit. If the house felt so oddly stripped of everything that had been the essence of Hannibal, maybe it wouldn't be so hard to walk through these rooms.

That feeling left him quickly, though, as he moved more deeply into the house. He stopped just outside the dining room, closing his eyes as memories came flooding back.

What exactly had he eaten all the times he'd been in that room?

Will almost felt as though he wanted to throw up; he swallowed hard, fighting back the urge. Whatever he had eaten in this room was long out of his system; he didn't want to think about it, didn't want to remember all the times that his nemesis had invited him over for dinner.

He knew now exactly what Hannibal was, and it sickened him more than it ever had. To think that Hannibal had ever thought that he would follow in those evil footsteps!

He could never be like Hannibal. He could never kill for the pleasure of doing so; he'd killed out of necessity, to save lives, including his own. That was all.

He wasn't evil. He had a dark side, but he didn't give in to it.

He regretted a lot of what he'd had to do to put Hannibal behind bars, but he didn't regret the fact that such a monster was now where he belonged.

It was hard not to have regrets, even though all the things that he'd done had been necessary. He just wished that so many lives hadn't been lost to put one life in jail.

Still, it was far too late for regrets. He'd done what he had to do, and hopefully, he'd managed to get some justice for those who had lost their lives at Hannibal's hands. He hoped so. He would hate to think that all he'd done, the sacrifices that he himself had made, were in vain.

Will pushed those regrets to the back of his mind, slamming a mental door on them. He didn't need to think about them now. This wasn't the time or the place.

He had to keep in mind why he was here. He needed to exorcise this place, to put away the ghosts of all that had taken place here, not drag out regrets and examine them.

Taking a deep breath, Will squared his shoulders.

He would never feel comfortable in this house, but at least he was taking the proverbial bull by the horns and facing his fears, rather than running away from them.

Nor was he trying to lock them away. He was admitting that they existed, and he was standing up to them -- just as he had done when he had first confronted Hannibal.

He would never regret doing that. He'd _had_ to make sure that the bastard was behind bars, and he had no regrets whatsoever about being the one to put him there. But a part of him would always regret the lives that he hadn't been able to stop Hannibal from taking.

There was one life in particular that he wished he could have saved, a life that had meant a great deal to him. And he had watched her die in this house.

Will closed his eyes, then opened them to look down at his hands. They were trembling as he slowly raised them to his face. He couldn't stop their shaking.

He didn't want to walk into that upstairs room. But he had no choice.

He _had_ to face that room, and all that had happened there, no matter how hard it was for him. He couldn't truly be at peace until he did.

That room had played a large part in his nightmares for the past several months. He had to exorcise those memories, had to manage to put them aside, to lock them away in the past where they belonged. He couldn't let them keep plaguing him. If he did, then he would go insane.

It was too late to stop those memories from being a part of his life, but he could at least face the place where they had formed, and hopefully, lay them to rest.

Slowly, reluctantly, Will began to make his way up the stairs.


	4. Replay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will knows that he has to confront the room where he witnessed so many horrors if he wants to hold on to his sanity and move on from the past.

Will looked around him as he walked up the stairs, almost wishing that he could turn and run away. He didn't want to face what he knew was upstairs.

But he had to do this, he told himself sternly. If he didn't, then he would always feel like a coward, as though he couldn't face his past.

And if he didn't do that, then he couldn't move ahead.

He had a future. He didn't have to live in the shadows of a past that had only made him unhappy. He _could_ move on, and leave that past where it belonged.

He didn't have to look back at the past and shudder; he could close the door on it, as he should have already done. There was no reason for him to brood over it, to turn it over again and again in his mind and wonder if things could have been done any differently.

There were so many things that he would change if he could. So many mistakes that he'd made, so many things that he'd done on the spur of the moment that he shouldn't have.

Why had he called Hannibal and warned him that the FBI was closing in?

That had been the stupidest thing he'd ever done. Because of that, he'd caused Abigail's death -- and he would never forgive himself for it. 

But it was far too late for those regrets now, and he knew it. They had to be put away, and the door had to be closed on them as well. He had to live with what he'd done.

Some of the decisions that he'd made would haunt him for the rest of his life; he was well aware of that. He hadn't done everything that he should have done, and he done some things that he would always bitterly regret. But wasn't that what life was all about? You lived, and you learned.

Though if he was honest, he would admit that he was very lucky to be alive. Still, he couldn't help but wonder if he'd been purposely left alive.

Hannibal could have killed him. He knew how to do that well enough.

Yet, he hadn't done so. No, he had left Will alive -- left him alive so that his regrets could eat away at him, so that he would have a lifetime to look back on all that he'd done.

Will didn't doubt for a moment that Hannibal had left him alive as an exquisite form of torture -- because the bastard had known that he would end up like this.

Hannibal wanted him to relieve those mistakes, over and over again.

But he wouldn't do it, he vowed, his inner voice strong and firm. He was going to put those mistakes behind him, and get on with his life. He owed himself that.

He didn't owe Hannibal anything. That monster had tried to kill him, not just once, but several times. And not only that, but he had wanted to frame Will for his crimes -- which could have gotten him the death penalty. Hannibal had only rescued him from that to prove that he could do so.

If he hadn't had those visions when he was behind bars, then he might never have known exactly what Hannibal was, and just how false their supposed "friendship" had been.

Well, his eyes had been opened now, and Hannibal was where he belonged. All he had to do was manage to put the ghosts of the past to rest, and he could move on.

However, that wouldn't be as easy as it sounded.

The door to that room where he had thought that he was going to bleed his life away was right in front of him. All he had to do was reach out and open the door to confront the memories.

But something was stopping him from doing so; he didn't want to touch that doorknob. He didn't want to push the door open and be faced with all the horror again; he didn't want to remember Hannibal slashing Abigail's throat, his own tears, and then the pain of being gutted.

Will's hand instinctively went to his stomach where the scar was, where the knife had gone in deeply and twisted in his flesh, leaving a permanent mark.

He would never forget that day. He would always have a stark reminder of it.

That horror would forever replay itself out in front of his eyes if he didn't walk into this room now, if he didn't rid himself of that memory once and for all.

No, not rid himself of it. He could never do that; the memory would always be in the back of his mind, ready to jump out at him with teeth and claws bared.

Still, if he confronted that room, let the memories play out one last time, then maybe he could manage to shut them away, to close the door on them and make peace with what he hadn't been able to do. For that was the crux of all that he felt, wasn't it? His own guilt as his helplessness.

He'd stood there and watched Hannibal murder Abigail. For him, she had died a second time; he'd had to relieve the grief of losing the girl he thought of as his daughter all over again.

Hannibal had known just how to hurt him. He had known what witnessing Abigail's death would do to him, and he had meant for it to cause maximum pain.

He knew that Will would never forgive himself for not being able to save her.

He had to go into this room. He had to face what had happened there, had to make his peace with the memory. If he didn't, then it would never let him go.

Will knew that he couldn't deal with any more sleepless nights, or another night where he woke from a restless sleep with his heart in his throat, a silent scream stuck in his chest, a scream that wouldn't come out no matter how hard he tried to express what he was feeling in a cascade of sound.

If there were any more nights like that, he would drive himself insane. It was past time for all of that to stop, for him to put the past into its place and move away from it.

And the only way he could move on was to confront that past.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, placing his hand on the doorknob. Slowly, ever so slowly, he turned it and stepped forward into the room that he dreaded seeing again.

Then he simply stood there, looking around him and letting all of the horrors that he'd felt and witnessed in this room wash over him in a rush of emotion.


	5. Room Full of Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It isn't easy for Will to face what happened in the room where he nearly died.

Will looked around him, tears filling his eyes.

This was the room where he had almost died. It was a room full of memories, scenes replaying inside his own head in a flash, over and over again.

It was as though those memories were on a continuous loop; he couldn't shut them off, couldn't make them go away. Over and over again, he saw Hannibal murder Abigail, only moments after he had discovered that the young girl was still alive. He'd had to grieve for her all over again.

And then Hannibal had embraced him -- just before the bastard had gutted him. He could still feel the pain; his hand went to the scar on his stomach.

He could still feel the pain of what had caused that horrific marking.

The memory filled his senses; Will closed his eyes, breathing hard, fighting to push that memory away. He didn't want to feel it again. It was still too painful.

He didn't want to be here in this room full of memories; he didn't want to feel this pain that sliced through him like a cold winter wind. But he _had_ to face that painful past if he wanted to be able to put it behind him, make peace with it, and move into the future.

He had to remember everything that Hannibal had done here, how those actions had cut into his heart and soul as much as they had sliced into his flesh.

If he didn't remember it, if he didn't let that emotional pain sink into him as much as the physical pain had, then he would never be able to put it behind him and move ahead.

He _had_ to do this, Will told himself as he turned in a slow circle, wincing as he took in the pool of blood on the floor. _His_ blood, the blood that he had thought would drain out of him slowly, too much of it pooling around him before the ambulance could arrive.

He'd been so sure that he would die in this room, just as Abigail had. But he hadn't. He had survived, and he had put Hannibal behind bars where he belonged.

He could be proud of himself for that, if nothing else.

Will swallowed hard as he stared at the pool of blood on the floor near the window, where Abigail had died. He could remember that sight as though it had happened yesterday.

He would never forget it. That vision would be etched in his mind for all of eternity, and even though he would manage to put his grief for the girl who he'd almost thought of as a daughter aside and move on with his life, he knew that a part of him would always mourn for her.

The tears were coming, and he didn't even try to hold them back. There was no reason to, he told himself. There was no shame in crying.

He let the tears stream down his face, almost welcoming their presence.


	6. To Dust and Ashes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will feels that his life has crumbled into nothing but dust and ashes.

His life felt as though it had turned to dust and ashes.

Why was he the one who remained alive, when those he cared for were gone?

Yes, he had managed to put Hannibal behind bars. But that was cold comfort, considering all that he had lost, the people who were now gone from his life.

There was no sense of triumph, as he'd thought he would have. He only felt empty, cold, and even more closed off from the world than he'd ever been.

Will had thought that he was starting to climb out of that self-imposed isolation he'd always put himself in; he had begun to think that maybe, just maybe, he could lead something of a normal life. But that had been before Hannibal had framed him for murder.

Spending those months in jail had pushed him down further than he had ever been before. Though he had never for one second contemplated ending his own life.

Maybe a lot of people would have sunk that low. But he had let his thirst for revenge, his need to make Hannibal pay for his crimes, drive him.

That was what had gotten him through it all.

If he hadn't felt that need to repay Hannibal for all the evil that he'd done, for all that he himself had suffered, he wouldn't be here today.

That ambition had been realized, and now he could put it all into the past and get on with his life. Though that would be a lot harder than it sounded.

He still felt lost, in some ways. He had his job back; he was working with the FBI again, though he wasn't sure that he wanted to do so. Still, he had this strange, unique ability, and if he could save lives with it, then he felt that he had a responsibility to keep at it.

If only that ability could bring him happiness, Will thought with a sigh. But he didn't think that happiness was in the cards for him.

He doubted that he could ever manage to be happy again.

His happiness had been destroyed when he had found out that one of the only two people in the world who he completely trusted had murdered the other.

Or, at least he had _thought_ that Hannibal had murdered Abigail. He had received the shock of his life when he'd discovered that she was still alive.

And then, Hannibal had killed her again. Right in front of him.

Will knew why he'd done it. Hannibal had wanted him to suffer, and he had known that taking away the one person Will still cared for would do just that.

Hannibal had wanted to incapacitate him, to make him feel helpless. And he'd managed to do not only that, but to make Will feel, for at least a brief time, that he wanted to die as he'd laid there on the floor, bleeding out, staring at Abigail's dead body.

But he hadn't let himself feel like that for long. He had felt a need for revenge, a need to go after Hannibal and make him pay for all that he'd done.

He still felt that need. He still wanted Hannibal to pay, for the rest of his miserable life, for all the pain and suffering he'd caused to untold numbers of people.

It wasn't just him who had suffered. There were countless others.

Hannibal was evil, and Will was proud to have been the one to stop that evil from spreading in the world and causing any more pain to innocent victims.

Though his own pain hadn't stopped, and he wondered sometimes if it ever would. He doubted it. He was sure that he'd always feel the heartache of his losses.

He didn't intend to spend the rest of his life mourning what could have been. He didn't want to grow old as a bitter, lonely man, forever sighing for the life he could have had. Hannibal would win if he did that, and he wasn't going to let that bastard destroy his life.

But there were times when it felt as though everything had crumbled to dust and ashes on that night; his life had been forever altered, in all the ways that mattered.

He had known that he would never lead what people referred to as a "normal" life, but he'd hoped that he was starting to stabilize himself at that point.

Then Hannibal had ripped everything to shreds.

Will was sure that he could still taste the ashes and dust that his life had crumbled into every time he thought of Hannibal. That taste would never go away.

Whenever he thought of the other man, the worst enemy he'd ever had, his thoughts would always return to this house, to what had happened within this very room.

He would always see Hannibal slitting Abigail's throat, then throwing aside her lifeless body as though she meant nothing more to him than a rag doll. She probably hadn't, he told himself miserably. Hannibal cared about no one but himself. He wasn't capable of the finer emotions.

Hannibal had never been his friend. Not truly. He wasn't capable of love or affection. He was a serial killer, a conscienceless murderer.

If only he had known that from the beginning, somehow been able to sense what Hannibal was, then he wouldn't have been put through such utter hell.

And maybe Abigail wouldn't have died.

Will closed his eyes, sorrow coursing through him. He would never get past all that had happened. It would color the rest of his life, haunt him for all of his days.

He would always blame himself for Abigail's death. If he had only realized what Hannibal was sooner, then she could have survived. He would have been able to take her away from Hannibal, legally adopt her, and try to give her the best life that he could.

Instead, all she had was a cold, desolate grave. And all he had was an empty heart, one that wasn't capable of feeling anything any more but sorrow and regret.

That wasn't the way that either of them should have ended up.

Swallowing hard, trying to slam a door on all of the memories that crowded into his mind, Will turned away from the room, moving towards the doorway.

He had to leave this room, this house. If he stood here any longer, letting the memories flood over him, he was going to sink to his knees in a flood of tears, and he wouldn't allow himself that kind of release. Not here. Not now. Not in the room where it had all happened.

He would wait until he was home to set his emotions free, where he didn't feel that he was haunted by the ghosts that would always populate this house.

Will left the room, slamming the door behind him. 

He knew that he wouldn't be back. He never wanted to see this house again. He never wanted to revisit these ghosts. He just wanted the memories to go away.

But he knew that they never would. He didn't have to be a genius to know that what had happened in this house had changed his life irrevocably, and that the memories would never fade. They would only grow stronger over time, and they would haunt him until his last breath.

It wasn't what he wanted. It wasn't what he had asked for. But it was all that he had, and he would just have to get used to that albatross around his neck.

As he left the house, the taste of dust and ashes rose into his mouth.

He knew that the taste would never go away.


End file.
